Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
17 stories
Popular tags
Showing 17 stories
Low Treble
The neck of the Gibson felt like a stranger's hand, cold and unyielding, while she stood by the oak vats and watched him bleed through a ballad.
Rough Silk
Her fingers on the glass were steady, but the way she looked at my mouth was a chord held just a second too long.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"if-you-don't-close-that-door,-i'm-going-to-keep-thinking-you're-a-tourist"-951-cover-1785283262235.jpg)
"If You Don't Close That Door, I'm Going to Keep Thinking You're a Tourist"
The rain didn't just fall; it dismantled the city, turning the limestone facades into something slick and treacherous, much like the look in her eyes when her husband left the room.
Aisle 4, Under the 'Foreign Language' Sign
She’s balanced on the rolling ladder like a mountain goat in silk, and I’m ninety percent sure she’s not wearing underwear.
November 14th, 8:14 PM
His thumb hooked into the waistband of my silk trousers, dragging the fabric down just enough to expose the scar from my appendectomy.
Why Did You Let the Door Click Shut?
The air conditioning in the gallery hummed like a low-budget horror score, a cold, mechanical buzz that did nothing to chill the sweat pooling at the base of my spine.
August 14th, 2:44 PM
I knew I was over the line the second I saw her in that white dress, looking like a target I wasn't allowed to hit.
Who Told You This Was a Good Idea?
Julian’s hand was a heavy, warm anchor on my thigh, mocking the ‘Quiet Car’ sign while his thumb traced the seam of my stockings.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you-really-shouldn't-have-ordered-the-pinot"-917-cover-1779004859744.jpg)
"You Really Shouldn't Have Ordered the Pinot"
She traced the edge of my laptop with a fingernail that had a tiny chip in the red polish, looking at me like I was a script she was about to pass on.
I Definitely Could Have Handled This Better
The condensation on her glass was the only thing cooler than the look she gave me over the rim of that Zinfandel.
Caleb’s Corkscrew
His thumb traced the line where my leggings met my waist, a deliberate, grounding pressure that made my breath hitch in my throat.
Fragile Granite
The flour on my palms left white handprints on his dark trousers, a literal trail of my own undoing.